


skin in the game

by nui (cogito)



Category: Kagerou Project
Genre: Casino AU, I should be sleeping, M/M, billionaire!kuroha, dealer!shin, fucking in a bathroom, look what i do for you guys, multiple rounds, self-gratification, shintaro “no homo” kisaragi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cogito/pseuds/nui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shades is still smiling, but now his hands are tented together as he watches Shintaro squirm under the lights. “Hit me.” Gladly, Shintaro adds mentally, but deals regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shin’s about 21 in this AU, making the Kokonoses 22.
> 
> Shintaro is a poor international kid from Japan who is going to MIT but ends up accruing a huge gambling debt on top of his already awful tuition fees. The Kokonoses are the children of the current president of the United States, as well as a very successful and wealthy family who got there because of extremely profitable investments in the Stock Market!

Shintaro pulls at his collar, uncomfortable in the tightness of the dress shirt. He stares at himself in the mirror uncomfortably, tugging on his cuffs and playing with the vest buttons until the vest becomes wrinkled. Hurriedly, he rushes to smooth it out to the best of his attempts. He scowls, the familiar looking expression settling into familiar lines. It looks better, he looks so much more natural like this. Then he forces himself to smile, the words of the pit boss echoing ins his head. The malformed thing looks more like a marred grimace on a badly painted statue.

“This is stupid,” He hisses to no one in particular, tempted to run a hair through this combed-back hair just to calm down, but pulls his hand back just in time to attempt to shove it in his pant pockets. Whatever the fabric is, through, it wrinkles too easily, so he tries to smooth that out too. His eyes catch his reflection in the mirror.

The face staring back doesn’t even look like him. It’s foreign and clean, replacing the pasty white face that’s been staring at a computer screen for so long he’s lost all ability to socialize. The eternal dark circles under his eyes are gone, removed by the smooth, pristine gradient of the makeup on his skin, and his hair is neater than it has ever been in his entire life. It’s not in his eyes, for once. He can see more than his feet in front of him. The entire thing isn’t cheap, and even though it may have been nearly a thousand dollars, it wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket in his debt.

He looks sharp. If he didn’t normally look so different, he would have thought himself capable of looking like this more often. Shintaro flicks his eyes towards the watch on his wrist, he’s been here for too long. It’s almost time to start his shift. He doesn’t want to get fired before he’s even started this damn job.

The training is nothing like being at the table by himself. The lights are hot and the air conditioning isn’t nearly enough to cover the nervousness in his veins. He sees the pit boss watching him from the corner of his eyes. There’s no way to get out of this without messing up. He seems pretty lucky for the night, though, as his customers all seem to be elderly and rich and patient with him. He hasn’t messed up yet, but they probably won’t yell at him if he does, and Shintaro sighs of relief, thankful.

Stupid rich people and their stupid gambling addictions, Shintaro thinks, dealing out his cards. He’s lucky he got some players who seem complacent to play relatively low denominations, but he can’t stop the bile from his throat when he watches one of his co-workers try and remain calm in the face of a guest shouting at her. 

“I think that one over there is taking a fancy to you,” One of the players points out suddenly, gesturing to someone staring at him from the corner of a room.

Shintaro fakes a laugh and doesn’t bother looking, “Would you like to hit or stand on that, sir?”

“I think I’ll stand.” 

The old man reveals a ten and a nine, the other players at the table reveal their hands, and Shintaro flips his face down card for an ace and a ten. He grins. That’s his first blackjack of the night. He quickly sweeps around the table- he’s just racked in about $2000 for his first actual bet. 

As he reaches down to collect the chips, the dark haired stranger turns his head, their eyes meet for a brief moment. The customer smiles, but turns his head another way before Shintaro says anything. He’s talking to his brothers now, judging by the nearly identical look on their faces. The stranger is laughing, and Shintaro shakes his head to get his face out of his mind. He’s just another customer.

Instead of focusing on his stupid, attractive face, Shintaro deals instead, keeping his mind on the game, converting cash to chips and then dealing another hand. No one’s ever liked him anyway, he’s too plain for any of this glitz and glamour.

But, is the fact that he wanted that lifestyle the reason why he said yes to coming to Vegas anyway?

\--

He’s been at work for about two weeks when the stranger sits at his table for the first time. He’s taller than Shintaro himself by about ten centimeters, and doesn’t look to be that much older. The first time he sits, though, he’s wearing sunglasses at night, and inside, like a fucking douchebag. Shintaro says nothing about this. He could get fired at a moment’s notice if he ever complained about a guest. Instead, he says without emotion, “This table has a one hundred dollar minimum bet.” 

The dark haired stranger smirks too deviously as tosses down two stack of hundreds. Shintaro reaches over to pick them up, only to have the stranger’s hand clamp down on his own. “That’s not for chips, it’s your payment for a night with me.”

Shintaro tries to resist the urge to gag as he forcibly retracts his hand, “What kind of chips would you like your money in, sir.” The last syllable is acidic, dripping with cruel sarcasm as he watches the stranger leans into his palm.

“I want them in hundreds.”

So, twenty thousand dollars in hundreds. Shintaro does the calculations in his head, and then pushes forward two stacks of one hundred dollar chips as he deposits the money in the cache under the table. 

“I really am serious, though,” He says again, louder this time, “I’ll pay you 50 grand.”

“Sir,” Shintaro says again, “This casino does not offer prostitution services. Please place your bet.”

“Really?” He feigns innocence, sliding forward ten chips, “I saw girls draping themselves over the guests in the Comp room.”

Shintaro’s face goes white as he pieces together. This douchebag had comps? It was just plain infuriating, as if everything else wasn’t. The others around the table have placed their bets, so Shintaro deals. Maybe if he forces the guy to lose, he would leave.

About two rounds in blackjack, however, the douchebag gets a blackjack. It isn’t exactly rare to hit a blackjack, and he’s earned more than enough money to pay back the one-to-five payout, so he doesn’t complain. However, when he hits blackjack twice more within the next four rounds, Shintaro can’t hide the incredulity on his face. Shades is still smiling, but now his hands are tented together as he watches Shintaro squirm under the lights.

“Hit me.”

Gladly, Shintaro adds mentally, but deals regardless.

After the last hand has been won and Shintaro’s just about broken even with the other guests at the table, the stranger leans close, angling his sunglasses so Shintaro can see his eyes. They’re a shade of off-yellow, and Shintaro decides that it must be a pair of contacts because no natural human being could have an eye colour like that.

“Kuroha Kokonose.” He says, offering his hand towards Shintaro.

Shintaro swallows his bile and takes Kuroha’s hand, “I’m Shintaro.”

Kuroha pushes his shades back as he slides forward five hundred dollars, “A tip for your services tonight. Just sharing the wealth, you know?” Then he departs from the table.

Shintaro rolls his eyes. Like five hundred is going to do anything for him. He lost a lot more money on Kuroha than he anticipated. The rest of the guests are still here though, and Kuroha has wandered off somewhere else. 

He shoots a glance to the pit boss, the pit boss shrugs at him in return, having noticed the steady stream of blackjacks that were being dealt in Kuroha’s favour regardless of Shintaro’s tactics. So Kuroha didn’t count cards, and the rest of these players were just regular middle class citizens as well. What kind of asshole got that lucky?

The dealer pays him no mind as he collects the rest of his bets.

\--

Kuroha comes back a second time the next day. This time he’s not wearing his sunglasses, and his eyes are still yellow. Shintaro doesn’t say anything, but he makes note of the way the light reflects off his eyes and doesn’t look Kuroha in the eye. 

“I’m here to play, Shintaro,” Kuroha says, sliding in a five thousand dollars in chips.

“Only if you’re ready to lose your money.”

Kuroha is pretty handsome, Shintaro notes silently. The way his face is shaped is perfect with the angular shape of his eyes and the way his lips curl up like a snake, and there’s always snappy and tailored suits that look so nice on him that Shintaro could just die. When he laughs, Shintaro catches the sharpness of his canines so sharp Kuroha almost looks like a vampire.

No matter how he deals, cutting his cards one way or manipulating the order so would Kuroha more frequently, Kuroha somehow always manages to break even. He never loses more than he bets, and for some reason the blackjacks always end up in Kuroha’s hands. If the regular ratio was 1 to 20, then Kuroha’s must have been 1 to 5. This is fucking ridiculous. This guy can’t be this lucky? But the ratio never changes, no matter how many times Kuroha shows up and no matter how much money he puts down on the table. 

It isn’t long before Kuroha frequents his table despite his complaints. Here comes Kuroha again, probably with another attempt to buy a night with Shintaro. 

“500 thousand dollars,” Kuroha says one evening, “That’s my final offer.” He holds up five fingers, wiggling them as Shintaro rolls his eyes in response. 

“If you want a prostitute, you can ask those ladies at the bar.”

“I don’t need a prostitute if I can have you.”

Shintaro lifts Kuroha’s bills off the table, sliding him a stack of yellow chips instead. “Sorry, I’m not gay.”

“What if I ask one of them and you? It’s not gay if there’s a girl in between, right?” Kuroha chuckles, scraping the table with his index, “Oh, I’m sorry, are you insulted by the thought of not being alone with me?”

“I’m insulted you came to proposition me in the first place.”

“Don’t be like that,” Kuroha whispers, leaning in so close that Shintaro can feel Kuroha’s lips on his own, “I’ll fill out a complaint about you.”

Shintaro pulls back, cursing under his breath as he watches Kuroha laugh to himself. He wishes he could punch Kuroha right here and now, but settles for imagining himself dunking Kuroha’s head in the fountain in the center of the lobby instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to MIT’s website, one year of MIT tuition is 59k. Shintaro is in a four year program, so he’s got at least $236,000 in loans to pay off. This isn’t including any international student fees, graduate programs, and his gambling debt. I put Shintaro in MIT because he’s a Huge Nerd.
> 
> According to Indeed.com, a Casino dealer in Vegas makes about $34,000 a year. Tips are shared among all the Dealers in the pit o/ 
> 
> I have no fucking idea how casinos actually work, especially not Vegas casinos, so some of the things here aren’t accurate? Admittedly I didn’t do as much research as I should have for something like this, so don’t actually use this fic for Actual portrayal of casinos since this fic is like 80% self gratification anyway.
> 
> Many casinos also offer other comps, especially to high rollers. These may include airfare reimbursement, limo rides, prostitution services,[citation needed]tickets to shows, golf, free concierge services, cash back, private gaming areas, and private jet service.
> 
> For reference: At Wynn Las Vegas, the committee members collected the day's tips from the casino floor at 4 a.m., then counted the money and presented the results to the casino cashier for verification, according to Mr. Pascal and the "Wynn Las Vegas Table Game Operations Dealer Department Handbook." The money was then paid as part of each dealer's paycheck, supplementing their nominal $6.15 per hour wages.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room is hot, and the collar is too tight but he can’t unbutton his shirt. The hairspray in his head is starting to smell too sharp, and worst of all his heart is pounding too hard in his chest. He’s going to faint soon, and waiting for the impending heart attack is worse than the cardiac arrest itself.

About a month later, Kuroha brings his siblings to Shintaro’s table. On closer inspection Shintaro realizes they’re the same ones the first time he saw Kuroha. “Huh-” They all look so similar that Shintaro almost has trouble determining who is who until he notices they all have different suits. 

“Haruka Kokonose,” says the one in the black suit with a green corsage, introducing himself first. His cufflinks are light green as he offers Shintaro a smile, holding out his hand. Shit, Shintaro thinks, panicking inside his own head, Haruka’s really, really hot. Nice too, he adds as an afterthought. A whole different level from Kuroha. I’m not gay. I swear- 

He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince, but he shakes Haruka’s hand anyway.

The one standing in the middle is dressed in white, standing around awkwardly and looks like he’s about to fall asleep at any minute if not for the plate of food in his hands and the mouthful of chicken in his mouth. “That’s Konoha,” Haruka hurriedly whispers, “He wanted to see the dealer Kuroha was willing to spend half a million on, even though he keeps saying he doesn’t want to pay prostitutes for that kind of thing.”

Shintaro’s sheepish smile makes its way on to his face. Back at the table, Kuroha’s already seated himself, pushing forward five thousand dollars in chips as he irritably snaps at his siblings to place their bets. Haruka chuckles, pulling out a stool for himself, and Konoha follows suit, still sucking the meat from the chicken bones. Shintaro checks his watch. It’s eleven. Kuroha’s play at the table could make the hours go by extremely slowly.

Between Kuroha’s jibs and Konoha’s loud chewing, Haruka is the only solace he finds, but at 2am, Haruka pushes back from the table. “Well, I’m out for the night, Kuro. I need to sleep at some point. You can stay up if you want, though.” 

He stands up, pushing the stack of chips on his table towards Shintaro on his way out. Once more, he smiles at Shintaro as he picks up only the chip at the top. The dealer is so caught up by the radiant look on his face in response that he doesn’t understand that Haruka gave him about $10,000 in tips into the pit. It’s only in the aftermath of that night, the next time he comes in, that someone tells him how generously the Kokonoses tipped.

But he could fall in love with that smile. Shit.

Suddenly, the white haired one rises from his seat.

“Bye,” he says, hushed and quick, nearly silent that Shintaro wouldn’t have heard it if Kuroha hadn’t issued a half-hearted wave in response. Shintaro doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before Konoha disappears into the distance of the casino doors. The chair is hurriedly shoved in beside him. His chips lay abandoned on the table. Kuroha catches Shintaro’s gaze, and shoves them into the pit. It spills over the table, but Kuroha doesn’t bother picking at them to clean them up. Shintaro eyes the stack suspiciously.

“Should I, take those… or what?” Shintaro asks.

“Yeah, take ‘em. They aren’t coming back any time tonight.” Kuroha slides forward a stack of purple chips. Then he grins, “Looks like we’re alone, Mr. Dealer.”

“Don’t call me that,” Shintaro hisses, dealing, “I have a name.”

A cautious glance around the room shows that most players have filed out. Kuroha is the lone at the table, and it doesn’t seem like anyone else is coming in. Like this could go any worse.

Kuroha picks up the cards with his left hand, sweeping his eyes quickly along the numbers on the duo of his cards and makes his scraping motion.

Shintaro deals him another card in response.

 

At about 4am in the morning, Kuroha slides forward a completely ordinary black chip into the betting area. Shintaro scowls, “There’s a betting limit of one h-”

“Million dollars.” Kuroha interrupts, resting his chin on his right hand. 

“You’re kidding.” Shintaro says, reaching for the chip. He says that even though he knows Kuroha’s not lying. The rich prick lies about things that aren’t money since he has no reason to lie about his wealth when he’s throwing down stacks of hundreds like nobody’s business.

“I don’t lie about my bets, Shintaro. You can pick it up and scrutinize it with your fancy casino gaze if you want, but it’s legit, I got it signed by your boss and everything.” He points to the white number written in permanent marker, “See?”

The marker is crisp, and the signature is indeed that of the casino owner’s. Shintaro’s only seen it photocopied onto his paychecks, but the complicated flourish couldn’t be easily imitated. The date is dated today, so clearly Kuroha had the intention of playing the chip at his table. That’s not legal, Shintaro thinks, the colour draining from his face. Even the highest rollers couldn’t put down a million dollars.

“Are you going to take it, Mister Dealer?”

Kuroha breaks him out of his concentration. Winning one million dollars for the casino would definitely help that colossal debt but with Kuroha’s natural, unpredictable relationship with the lady luck, Shintaro isn’t even sure if the next hand will be a blackjack or if he would bust. 

He doesn’t realize Kuroha called him by name.

“You know we can’t pay this out if you do win, don’t you?”

The smirk on Kuroha’s face is irritating, like there’s no way he could actually lose the bet. “That’s fine, you can just pay with your body afterwards. I’ll even get the boss to sanction it.” And in air quotes, “‘I won’t take my winnings if the dealer at table seven sleeps with me’.”

The red floods into Shintaro’s face. “W-what- What the hell- That’s not- ”

Kuroha’s still smiling. He never fucking stops smiling. Of course the casino owner would take him up on that offer if it meant the casino wouldn’t lose five million dollars. Paying with his body would be the only way he wouldn’t get fired, but his dignity would be lying in a million pieces. How did he get wheedled into this situation beyond all recompense again?

Oh, right, Shintaro sucks in his breath, because his stupid fucking college friends thought it would fun to get him laid and now he’s stuck in Vegas until he can pay off his goddamn loan and debt.

“I know you have a huge debt to pay off, so c’mon, let’s play.”

“How did you-”

Kuroha winks, points his finger forwards like a gun, and says nothing more. 

“All these hundred dollar bets must bore you, Shintaro. The bigger the bet, the more your fingers tremble, right?”

Shintaro’s hand lingers over the deck, having retracted it from the million dollar chip, “S-shut up,” He mumbles, “That’s not t-true…”

“You’re already fired up, it would be a shame if you just let me take my money and walk away, right? I came to play, not to watch you dawdle.” 

Shintaro sucks on his teeth, debating.

After an eternity, he finally asks, “If I just fucking play, will you shut up?” 

“Yeah.”

“Then fine,” Shintaro sighs. “I’ll deal.” 

He shuffles the cards, and then lets Kuroha cut the deck. Discarding the first card as per practice, he deals Kuroha. Since Kuroha plays on dumb luck and hunches and never actually plays with strategy, Shintaro only hopes that he hasn’t dealt Kuroha a blackjack by accident. He can do the tricks with his cards, but Kuroha’s luck is still the trumps.

He swallows, waiting for Kuroha to make his next move. The Kokonose seems pensive, pouring over his cards, and then finally scraping his index finger against the table. Shintaro deals him another card in response.

The room is hot, and the collar is too tight but he can’t unbutton his shirt. The hairspray in his head is starting to smell too sharp, and worst of all his heart is pounding too hard in his chest. He’s going to faint soon, and waiting for the impending heart attack is worse than the cardiac arrest itself. 

He doesn’t know what cards are in Kuroha’s hands, and waiting for him to make his play is stressful beyond relief. His own breath is heavy, and he’s sweating all grossly over the cards. Kuroha doesn’t seem to notice Shintaro’s nervousness, having stayed more silent than usual for some reason or another.

Kuroha hums, then hits again. At least dealing him two more cards meant that Kuroha didn’t have a natural blackjack. No one to five payout.

“Shintaro,” Kuroha says out of the blue, and the dealer snaps out of his worried trance to watch Kuroha put down his twenty.

In response Shintaro flips over his face-down card. The face down card is an ace, and Shintaro feels himself sigh for relief as he deals a card for himself to round off the soft seventeen on his table- an ace and a six. Kuroha’s gaze is on him, not on his cards, and the gaze is so intense he nearly drops the deck he’s holding as he sets down the five, making a twelve. He deals again- an eight, rounding it up for an even twenty as the hand settles into a push. Shintaro sighs of relief.

“You don’t have another million in there, right?” Shintaro asks dryly, an attempt at humour to calm his frayed nerves as he discards his cards to deal again.

“Nah, he’d only sign one, so,” Kuroha says, following suit. Then he pushes forward twenty-five thousand. Kuroha’s feeling adventurous, Shintaro notes, since he’d normally only put down five thousand per bet. Shintaro deals.

Over the brim of his cards, Kuroha asks, “What’s the longest push streak you’ve had with a guest?”

“Hm, about four, I think? It was only once, too. Why do you ask?”

Kuroha smiles again, his gaze returning to his cards, “Oh, no reason at all.” Then he tosses them forwards, “You won’t have to worry about that. Blackjack.”

Shintaro’s face goes completely white. The deck in his hands explodes all over the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The joke is that a black chip often has the value of $1, but since chips can be whatever colour the casino wants them to be, Kuroha probably goaded the Casino into customizing him a black chip of one million.
> 
> 2\. A soft seventeen is anytime there's an ace and a six on a table. Since Aces can either count for 11 or 1, with a six it either makes seven or seventeen. Certain dealers don't deal on a soft seventeen, but it's generally in the benefit of the casino to deal on a soft seventeen.
> 
> The porn is coming I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroha’s hands slide down Shintaro’s chest, past the waistcoat buttons until he’s reached the black belt around Shintaro’s trousers before unbuckling that too. Shintaro complains, stuttering furiously about something concerning his uniform that gets lost in his throat when Kuroha kisses him roughly, catching his lips and exploring his mouth before Shintaro can complain anymore.

Kuroha shoves him into one of the stalls, pushing him against one of the walls as he’s trying to find footing. It’s Kuroha, and Kuroha’s luck has been atrociously good so it’s really his fault that he thought he could win. In the back of his head he’s cursing at himself for being so fucking stupid. It was already bad enough that he lost, but he didn’t expect to lose his virginity in a fucking public bathroom in some swanky place in Vegas. The bathroom is spotless, but fuck, it’s a bathroom.

“You haven’t a-actually let him know yet-” Shintaro stutters, attempting to prolong the payment as much as possible.

“One phone call. Five million dollars.” Kuroha says, holding up his hand, five digits exposed to drive his point home. Then he deftly unbuttons the first couple of buttons on Shintaro’s shirt and nearly rips off his tie in the process.

Kuroha’s hands slide down Shintaro’s chest, past the waistcoat buttons until he’s reached the black belt around Shintaro’s trousers before unbuckling that too. Shintaro complains, stuttering furiously about something concerning his uniform that gets lost in his throat when Kuroha kisses him roughly, catching his lips and exploring his mouth before Shintaro can complain anymore.

“Do you ever stop bitching?” He asks, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not bitching!” Shintaro yells, only to have Kuroha kiss him again, softer than the last. This time, Kuroha’s hands move from this belt to the edges of his trousers, sliding them down from Shintaro’s hips. 

“Stop bitching.” 

“I’m not-” Shintaro hisses, settling his hands against Kuroha’s chest because he isn’t sure where else to put his hands. His pushes are rather weak, considering how if he actually tries to push Kuroha away the debt might not get paid.

He bites down on his lip as Kuroha palms the growing erection in his boxers. There’s no going back from this now. If he can just endure this, then the five million dollars could just be forgotten about like the drop of a hat.

In the back of his head he remembers the seven-figure digit and shivers. He isn’t sure if he’s shivering because of the debt, the bet, or if it’s Kuroha’s hand making short work of his erection.

“Just hurry it up already-” Shintaro hisses again through his teeth.

Kuroha snickers, kissing his nose, “I’ll give you something to bitch about, though,” He answers casually, still palming around the constricting boxers.

“I’m not gay or anything th-Ah-”

The shift in Shintaro’s tone encourages Kuroha. He pulls Shintaro’s boxers to his knees and shrugs off his own suit jacket, slinging it over the bathroom stall.

Shintaro squeezes his eyes in embarrassment as Kuroha sizes up his cock, hands still pushing lightly against Kuroha’s chest. If Kuroha is displeased, then he isn’t saying anything about it. Instead, he grips the base of Shintaro’s cock firmly before continuing to pump its length. Perhaps it’s for the best that Kuroha doesn’t say anything at all.

“You’re too hard for someone so adamantly insisting on ‘no homo’, Dealer.”   
“I’m n-not, g- ngh-”

He’s jerked himself off before to bad porn and admittedly, girl’s legs before. It wasn’t a creeper shot or anything, though, they were just pictures of legs on shoe modeling websites so it wasn’t like they were taken without permission.

His own hands awere calloused and rough from working on model robots from his robotics course, but Kuroha’s fingers are so much smoother and softer than his own, and the sensation is completely different. He doesn’t know what Kuroha’s going to do next or when he’s going to speed up or down. One of Kuroha’s finger lingers on the exposed head of his penis and Shintaro barely bites back the groan before it tumbles out of his lips.

“You’re really sensitive, Shin… Hah, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”   
“S-shut up-!” 

The blood rushes downwards towards his erection when he blushes in response, and Kuroha only chuckles as Shintaro’s knees buckle with each stroke. It’s like he’s pulling on Shintaro’s hips. The noises leaving Shintaro’s throat are gross and disgusting, but he’s not giving Kuroha the satisfaction of being proven right.

“You can come, you know. Holding it back isn’t healthy.” Kuroha offers, his hand continuing to stroke the entire length. When Shintaro opens his mouth to complain, Kuroha kisses him open tongued. Kuroha’s hand squeezes, then lets go, and Shintaro climaxes into Kuroha’s fingers as he groans into his mouth.

“You have to call-hah, hah-” Shintaro says, frantic as he slides down from his position, exhausted from the relief, “The boss a-about…”

“I’ll call him, hold on a sec.” Kuroha doesn’t offer Shintaro a hand up.

“S-so, are we done?” Shintaro asks, leaning against the stall wall for support even though he’s already half collapsed. 

“Done?” Kuroha mocks in a high-pitched voice, “We’re not done until I actually fuck you, you know. Quickly, Shintaro scrambles to his feet. Kuroha’s hand is on his cock again, but this time, Kuroha places a kiss on the tip of Shintaro’s cock.

“W-wait, d-don’t- I’m not- H-hey!”   
“What are you even stuttering about?”

Ignoring Shintaro’s protests, Kuroha’s lips part to take the head into his mouth, sucking gently. The small, wet noises echo in the bathroom stall. Shintaro doesn’t know how to hide his embarrassment, or if it’s even possible to somehow not get Kuroha to look at him as he sucks. The stuttering’s gotten worse, and his mouth is only parting to moan.

The inside of Kuroha’s mouth is unlike his hands, burning hot and soft as hell and filling perfectly around Shintaro’s cock. Shintaro chews on his cheeks so hard until he tastes blood when Kuroha sucks. Kuroha doesn’t move, in fact, he hasn’t made any progress past teasing the tip at an agonizing slow pace with his tongue. Shintaro groans, half out of irritation and half out of the warmth of Kuroha’s lips on his mouth. The glint in his eyes clearly reflects that Kuroha knows how slow he’s going, and god, probably wants Shintaro to beg.

It’s infuriating, watching Kuroha like that, and doing the thing with his tongue. Roughly, he grips Kuroha’s ponytail and pushes his mouth deeper until his erection bumps against Kuroha’s teeth. Shintaro nudges the back of his head with his palm, and Kuroha seems to understand, as his pace increases before settling into a natural speed with Shintaro’s cock still in his mouth. The look that Kuroha shoots him, though- a sly look of understanding and insinuation- turns his feet to jelly.

 _Fuck_ , Shintaro thinks between his best attempts to stifle his moans, _Fuck!_

Shintaro’s hand is still around the back of Kuroha’s head, tangled with his ponytail and hair. His knees buckle, and he thrusts unwillingly, spilling when his cock is still buried in the back of Kuroha’s throat.

“S-shit- I didn’t mean to-I’m s-”

Instead, Kuroha swallows, taking a moment to detach his lips from Shintaro’s cock. His gulping noises are the only other sounds in the bathroom stall as he drinks. Shintaro immediately attempts to pull himself out, and Kuroha gives him a good squeeze before letting go. There’s an overflow of semen, spilling form the back of Kuroha’s throat, through his lips, and on to the tiles beneath him. Shintaro watches him wipe his mouth with his the back of his hand, breathing heavily.

“Don’t be so impatient.” His voice has a bit of a gurgle in it, but Kuroha’s smiling so Shintaro is sure he isn’t mad or angry at all. 

But it doesn’t excuse the heat in Shintaro’s face. He could burn to cinders at this very moment. He says nothing, and his mouth gapes instead as he watches Kuroha clean himself off. “It’s a bit sweet, and I don’t think that’s healthy,” Kuroha says, licking his fingers off as he flashes Shintaro a grin. Then he smoothly climbs to his feet as he unbuttons the rest of the buttons on Shintaro’s shirt, “Maybe some exercise would help, instead of standing on your feet all night.”

“When are you-hah-going to be done?” Shintaro asks. He’s never had the endurance to go multiple rounds, and yet here was Kuroha, having jerked him off and blown him and impatiently going for a third round. 

“This is the good part, I promise, the part where I actually fuck you, so-” 

Before Shintaro can prepare himself, Kuroha’s hand settles around his shoulders. Shintaro yelps. For some reason even though Shintaro is burning hotter than the sun, Kuroha’s hands are colder than subzero temperatures.

“Wait wait wait! I can turn around myself, stop being so pushy, jeez-” Shintaro protests, turning around. Halfway through, Kuroha’s hand, still on his shoulder, shoves him violently into the wall. 

“I like about you, that tone of yours.” Kuroha purrs, “Even when you glare at me, it’s so full of emotion-” One of his hands roams until he’s found Shintaro’s nipple, “And it’s fucking hot.” Shintaro’s breath hitches.

Kuroha’s other hand reaches around Shintaro’s waist, gathering the precum from Shintaro’s twitching cock. Shintaro sucks in a breath. He didn’t even know he was hard again. “Didn’t think you’d actually be a virgin with all that tough, big man talk, though.”

Kuroha hums as he wiggles his finger inside Shintaro’s entrance without any more of a warning than that. The dealer convulses underneath the touch, shaking as Kuroha’s finger settles in deeper. The entry isn’t unwelcomed, but it sure is strange. His voice is betraying him, as he can’t even get a functional word out that doesn’t come out in fragments.

“S-shut- ngh…!” 

“But I guess it’s to be expected if you’re having a gay crisis. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a virgin.. or gay, to begin with.” Kuroha’s still talking, adding a second finger inside. Shintaro lurches forward in response.

He cannot believe what’s going on. His brain won’t work, his mouth is betraying him, and the sway of his hips with Kuroha’s fingers is like Kuroha has found his ultimate weakness. The dazed look on his face isn’t going away anytime soon because his eyes are already half glazed over.

Kuroha slides out his fingers, and he whines in complaint. “Don’t be impatient,” Kuroha coos, echoing his words from before.

Clinking noises jingle from behind him, and Shintaro figures Kuroha is undoing his own belt. He can’t even turn his head around to look, face still burning. He won’t turn around to look.

I can’t fucking believe this.

It doesn’t take long for Kuroha’s cock to replace where his fingers had been, poking at his entrance. The weird, plastic feel to it must mean Kuroha bothered to bring a condom. Shintaro doesn’t want to think about the implications of that. Rather, the issue at hand is about enduring this. The debt will be forgotten about, and no one had to know about any of this besides him and Kuroha? 

He’s sucking in his breath, waiting for Kuroha to push in when a dialing tone reaches his ears from seemingly nowhere. 

See,” Kuroha hums, “I’m calling him right now. Best stay quiet, okay, Shintaro?” Dumbly, Shintaro nods, unable to formulate a response. His ears ring loudly.

“Hello, hello?” 

“Heeey, this is Kuroha Kokonose-” Kuroha responds immediately, tucking the phone between his cheek and shoulder, while setting both his hands on readjust so they’re back on Shintaro’s hips (Shintaro yelps). “Huh? Oh, Kono and Haru already went back for the evening, so it’s just me here.”

As finishes the sentence, Kuroha pushes himself in. Shintaro clamps down on his sleeves to keep from screaming out. The immediate response is pain, because even with Kuroha’s fingers inside him it still wasn’t enough to loosen him up. His sleeve isn’t enough to muffle his moans, thevibrations still leak through his throat. Kuroha’s thrusts make the pain more bearable as time goes on, however, as his groans of pain grow melt away. Kuroha doesn’t seem to care much for him though, still talking to his boss over the phone. Shintaro can’t help but get a little annoyed.

To keep himself from making noise, Shintaro digs his nails into the plastic of the bathroom stall. Kuroha is still chattering away on his phone, mumbling something about dinner with the president or someone else or another. Shintaro doesn’t hear anything about the five million dollar deal. Kuroha doesn’t let up the thrusts as he talks, either, and penetrates deeper when he picks up speed. 

For some reason, he’s perfectly content on the phone too, as if he wasn’t the one fucking Shintaro into the wall of the boss’ casino at this very moment. It’s infuriating. 

Shintaro can’t hear his own voice at this point, though, so he can’t complain. His face is burning hot like the rest of his body, but he’s forgotten if it’s from embarrassment spreading from his face or if it was from the heat of Kuroha’s dick inside him.

Then Kuroha finds his prostate, and Shintaro can’t cover his mouth in time to muffle the loud scream of Kuroha’s name. Kuroha’s voice on the phone curves up at the end of his sentence, pleased by Shintaro’s reaction. 

“Oh?”

The thrusting picks up again, deep and fast and somehow slamming into it every single time he enters. Shintaro mewls and whines beneath him. Kuroha removes one of his hands from Shintaro’s hips to cover his mouth, shoving his fingers into his mouth as he pulls apart Shintaro’s jaw.

“Huh? Oh no, I’m just watching a movie. Was it too loud? I’ve turned ths sound down though.”

Kuroha’s last thrust goes in all the way, and Shintaro arches his back and finishes just in time to hear Kuroha close the five million dollar deal. Kuroha clicks his tongue, and tucks the phone into his discarded jacket before moving his hands back. “I told you to be quiet. ”

Shintaro ignores him, whining, “We’re d-done, s-so- pull it out already!”

“We’re not done until I say we’re done.” Kuroha says darkly. One of his hands moves around his waist to Shintaro’s limp cock. Shintaro finds his protests drowned out when Kuroha begins to thrust again.

 

\--

 

“Getting blown by a billionaire in a bathroom somewhere in Vegas at 4am in the morning,” Kuroha muses, sliding on his jacket. It’s probably new, judging by the lack of marks and by how careful Kuroha was when he slung it over the stall, “That’s not bad for a poor international student from Japan, right?”

Shintaro freezes in the middle of pulling up his pants, “How did you know?”  
“Accent. Besides. I’ve played through more than a couple of dealers who were hired to pay off their debt.”

Kuroha smooths out creases like a crow preening itself. “What happened to them?” He asks, cautious.

“You should ask your boss about that,” Kuroha pushes open the stall door, “I’ll walk you back, let me wash my hands first.”

Shintaro glances around, no one’s in. He still doesn’t know if anyone’s heard them. At least that’s some sort of relief.

The walk to the bathroom is actually much shorter than it seemed coming in. “See you tomorrow, Mr Dealer,” Kuroha blows in his ear, “Sorry about not bringing lube.” 

Shintaro takes a swing, but before he lands a hit Kuroha is ducking out of his arm’s reach, disappearing down the path his brothers went. He gives Shintaro’s butt a hard squeeze before he goes, and the dealer gasps. 

On his way back to the table, he rubs his butt to recover from the pain. Something hard and round bumps against his fingers, so he reaches in to pull it out. That’s weird, Shintaro thinks as he pulls it out, I don’t remember pocketing any chips at the table. Considering how it was illegal to do so too, he wouldn’t dare risk getting fired for just one simple gesture.

The chip is completely black in colour. His face falls again as he glances at what is without a doubt, a one dollar chip. Remembering the one million dollar chip from the bet though, Shintaro turns it over. His eyes fall out of their sockets.

The one million dollar chip from his bet with Kuroha sits between his fingers. 

Shintaro deflates, and he can’t breathe at all. The air just won’t enter his lungs, no matter how hard he forces them to open up. Mechanical and awkward, he stumbles back to his table, sliding the chip into the pile of chips that were going to be counted by the dealer coming in to replace him at six.

Not bad for an international student from Japan with nothing to his name indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I thought I'd be generous and knock this out of the way considering how I was done with the AU already.


End file.
